Dear Roast Beef

Dear Roast Beef,

I'm going to get hungry next time I post to this blog because I'm going to see that savoury photo of you, and you just look so damn delicious. The main reason being - of course - that you ARE delicious. And that's why I'm writing.

I had a you sandwich today. For the first time in God knows how long. I can't say for absolute certain, but I'm pretty sure it's in the tens of years since I had a you sandwich. And now I'm not quite sure why it's been so long.

I recall a period in my youth when I went through a you sandwich phase. During that time, the only kind of sandwich I would eat had nice, thin strips of you in it. A little bit of mayo, maybe some lettuce and tomato - wonderful. But after about a year or two straight of just eating you-type sandwiches, it came time to move on to something a little different (I think I went to turkey at that point), and I don't think I've eaten you since.

And I'm not entirely sure why. I tend to do this kind of thing, though. I often have a very specific kind of sandwich that is the only type of sandwich I make for myself, and that's all I eat. When I first moved to Portland, it was ham. When I was in high school, it was salami. Before that, it was turkey. And before that . . . well, I just said it, didn't I?

And when I make a change, that change is usually pretty all-or-nothing. There's no slow transition of just having LESS of whatever sandwich-type I've been eating. No, sir. It's just a year or two straight of the one sandwich and then the next day - I have forsaken turkey for salami. Or salami for ham. Or whatever. If you've ever seen the movie "Adaptation," it's like when the Orchid Thief character tells his story about how he just one day forsook sea life. There's no going back once you've forsaken something.*

So I hadn't eaten you for a LONG ASS time, Roast Beef. Whenever I thought of you, I would think of that time when I no longer wanted to have you in my sandwich, and that would make me feel like there was something inherently wrong with you that would make me NEVER want to have you.

Today, I discovered how flawed my reasoning was. Because you were wonderful. You were meaty, and savoury, and just all-around fantastic. It's not something I could have expected on a hot day at an English Pub. You were cold, but meat-tastic. Filling, but not mashed-potatoes-filling like you just don't want when it's 85 degrees out.

And I think I know why you were so wonderful - because you were ACTUALLY cut from beef. From steak. There was a juicy redness to you that the you of my past had never come to resemble. It wasn't that super-thin grey stuff that so many other people eat (and I would laugh at). No - it was like taking a bite straight from the cow's haunch (if cow haunches happened to have bread, mayo, lettuce, and tomato stuck to them). Do I need to tell you how wonderful that was? I hope not, because I would hope that most people just automatically know how great it would be to take a direct bite out of a cow haunch with bread, mayo, lettuce, and tomato stuck to it.

You turned my head around this evening/late afternoon, Roast Beef. Not only do I need to apologize to you for having forsaken you so long ago and not re-thinking it in my older, wiser years; but I must also re-think many of my other forsakings that I have done in the past. Is it time to start eating Doritos by the giant party-size bag again? Do I need to purchase a Swatch?

These are questions that need to be asked - all due to you, my lovely friend.

So thank you, Roast Beef, for contributing to a turning point in my life. Thank you for treating me so well tonight and opening up my eyes to the possibility of unforsaking.

Picturing a cow haunch with bread, mayo, lettuce, and tomato stuck to it,
CVT

*The one exception is that my home-sandwich of late has been salami again. That whole peanut butter and jelly thing is just at school. When I'm at home and need a sandwich - salami and mayo, all the way.

Drawing #2

Just got back from another figure drawing session, and I'm pretty happy with the results from this one. Seems that I get better every time I go. This was about a 35-minute sitting. More pastels. I drank a Gatorade Rain (the pink kind) and had a banana right before I got there. It was hot today.

In YOUR FACE!!!
CVT

Dear Hairline

Dear Hairline,

I noticed you for the first time in a while today, so I thought I'd write you a little letter while you were still on my mind.

A few years ago, I was hanging out with my brother. Now, I don't remember exactly WHEN this was (what year or whatever), and I don't know how it came up, but I remember the result of this encounter: my brother told me that I was starting to go bald.

At that time, the concept of balding hadn't even really occurred to me. I was in my early twenties, I had thick, luscious hair, and I was in the throes of the illusion of youthful immortality - immortals don't have yous that recede. But this is what my brother claimed, and suddenly I was thrown.

My parents, of course, immediately countered this insane claim - but it was all for naught. The seeds had been sown, and suddenly I was examining my you in the mirror. I noticed that my you DID go back at an angle from right above my sideburns. Had that always been like that? Had my you receded THAT MUCH in recent years? How had I not noticed that before?

So I did a little bit of research. I pulled out all of the family photo albums and found pictures of myself as a little tike and carefully examined the visible yous. Okay, this one showed an obvious angling back from the top of my sideburns . . . Couldn't tell if it was the same amount as I had noticed in the mirror, but it looked close. A couple more images, and I was satisfied - I wasn't balding at all. My brother was just a jerk. All was quiet on the Male Pattern Baldness Front for quite some time.

And then, for whatever reason, I ended up looking at myself in the mirror today, and I pulled my hair back in order to expose you to my view. And I noticed that my hair didn't just go straight and smooth and evenly across the top of my forehead. It looked like a small chunk was MISSING. And suddenly I was back in a possible panic. Back to images of my youth. Back to uneasy reassurance.

I feel okay for now, but I don't believe I'll ever be able to rest easy about the permanence of my you from now on. I had a roommate who was bald back in the day, and I always wondered what it must have felt like when he had to decide to give up on the fight to keep his hair. Was that a battle I could fight and survive, emotionally? It's hard to say. It's like trying to imagine living my life after losing my vision. Sure, I would learn to adapt and it wouldn't be as bad as everybody says, but there would be some things I just wouldn't be able to enjoy the same way, anymore.

I mean - have you seen my hair? It's so thickly wonderful. I can play with it in so many different ways. Cut it short and then slowly watch it get big over the next two months before I cut it again. And my faux-hawk? It's so fun to shape. What would I do without the option of pulling at my hair when I was bored? What would I scratch when I was confused?

A lot of questions that I don't particularly want to answer at this time. And don't get me wrong, I have no problem with receding yous, Hairline. Some of my closest friends and family members have receding yous, and that doesn't make me love them any less. Right, Dad?

Am I crossing a line here? Is this not the kind of thing one should write a public blog about? If you have any complaints or want to sue for punitive damages, please keep in mind that the opinions and views expressed in this blog by no means represent the opinions and views of the editorial staff.

Ha! NOW sue.

Right. Anyway, Hairline, I just wanted to say that I appreciate you. And, in the end, if you decide to recede at any point, I'll understand. I just don't know if I could look good with a shaved head. Perhaps I could have some fun with a combover.

Take care, and stay right where you are,
CVT

Dear Modern Technology

Dear Modern Technology,

With your help, I have now officially posted my first personal drawing on this blog. You may lead us to self-destruction by and by, but when you're helping me accomplish some pretty cool things, I definitely appreciate you. Thanks.

This is a drawing I did at a drop-in life-drawing session on Saturday. The model was in this pose for 30 minutes. I used pastels. Any other information you need? I was very sleepy and ate an apple while I drew.

CVT

Dear Fire

Dear Fire,

You are a great thing for many, MANY reasons. But I am writing you tonight to appreciate you for one specific use - and that is your greatness as a social focal point. What the hell does that mean? Just read on.

So I'm trying to get more social these days. Those out there that know me should probably be aware that I'm not necessarily one to be all about going to parties and/or meeting new people. However, that tendency hasn't exactly been helpful for me in a number of ways, so I've been trying to change that up a bit recently.

With that in mind, I decided to go to a removed-friend's housewarming party today. Now, by "removed-friend," I mean a friend of mine here in town that I don't actually talk to or spend much time with. It's not a personal thing at all - I actually quite enjoy hanging out with her - but I'm such a terrible keep-in-toucher (plus my antisocial tendencies as mentioned above), which has kept me from following up on my promises to hang out. But she had a housewarming party today, and in spite of the fact that I had no idea who would be there (and was pretty sure I wasn't going to know anybody), I resolved to go. And go I did.

So I got there at 4pm and, as expected, I didn't know anybody there. And since I'm not one to ruin a hostess' time, I stood around awkwardly for a bit and started planning my escape. But then food was mentioned (in terms of prepping for barbecuing), and I decided to put myself to work.

Next thing I know, I'm in the backyard chopping veggies and getting coals ready for some BBQ. Long story short, I mentioned that her backyard would be much cooler with a firepit. About an hour later, one of the other guests and I have shovels in our hands as we dig a hole in her yard, line it with bricks, and make a fire. Et Voila! You-pit.

As expected, everyone was soon drawn to the you, and we're all sitting around and chatting by the pit. The beauty of such a thing for an anti-social person-hater like myself is that it's perfectly acceptable socially to just gaze into the you without saying a word. Without said pit, people just feel uncomfortable when I do things like that - but not in this case. At the same time, I was able to be involved in the conversations of those around me - free to make smartass comments and jump in whenever I felt the urge. And I did. More and more frequently.

And then I look up, and it's totally dark out, flames licking at the wood, and I've been positively SOCIAL for the last six hours. Thanks to you, Fire, I ended up hanging out at a party made up entirely of people I didn't know without feeling the overwhelming urge to run at the first opening. If that's not a first, it's got to be pretty close.

If it wasn't late, I think I'd be better able to articulate this. I'm kind of rusty on the blogging, I think.

I'm just going to end this now to save further crappy writing from happening. However, I should mention before I do so that my new master plan for socializing is to drop in on outdoor parties with a shovel in hand, so that I can make you-pits wherever I go. And then I can ease into comfortable conversation without the mandatory awkward staring at walls and floors. After a while, I could earn the reputation around town as "the Firepit Guy."

"Hey, I'm having a barbecue tonight - do you think the Firepit Guy will show up? I sure hope so."

What a way to meet people.

Thanks, Fire, for the assist tonight. I couldn't have done it without you.

Warmly (but obviously tired),
CVT

Dear Escapism Pure and True

Dear Escapism Pure and True,

My last month hasn't been so joyful. I wouldn't go so far as to call it joy-LESS per se, but I certainly didn't feel full of the stuff over that time (the last six weeks, really). And so I wanted to write you to thank you for the many times you've bailed me out during these dimmer days.

So where should I start? I was talking to Matt (my roommate) today about how I've taken my recent bumminess as an opportunity to just spend a bunch of money and revert to the good ol' days of my youth. What does that mean? Well, for a while there, I returned to those pure, mindless joys of when I was much younger - comic books and video games.

Nothing like comic books to take somebody who isn't so happy with their current plight to another world - one where everything makes perfect sense and there is Good and Bad - and the differences are clear for all to see in people's names and physical appearance. And video games? Well, we all know the complaints about how they're mindless pursuits that make our youth dumber with shorter attention spans - and I wouldn't really argue that. However, they're also just DANDY for silencing the chatter of a depressed mind, and that they did.

But comic books and video games aren't the only bastions of you, Escapism Pure and True. No, as the wonderful companion that you are, you make yourself available in so many different ways. Another one? Well, professional sports playoffs, of course. Specifically, I'm speaking of the joy that is the fact that the NBA AND NHL playoffs occur at the same time (and they are both conducted by seven-game series per round, which just makes them last so wonderfully, funderfully LONG). When I needed it most, I had my choice of two different hockey playoff games or two different basketball playoff games at a time. Combine that with eating sugary sweets and/or fish, and you have yourself an Escape of the most wonderful variety.

And, of course, why are you on my mind right now? Well, because I just returned from the most perfect example of you - Pirates of the Caribbean! Did the movie make any REAL sense? Not really. Did the writers just make up any ridiculous "legend" they wanted whenever they needed an out in the script? Yup. Was it just plain silly fun from start to finish? ABSOLUTELY. And so I must thank such producers as Jerry Bruckheimer, who do a great service to Americans everywhere by aiming to bow at the feet of such as you, Escapism Pure and True. Why give me meaningful plot twists when you can keep me so wrapped up in the eye candy and adventure that I'm not even sure if I have to pee?

But don't get me wrong, Escapism Pure and True - I DO understand that, eventually, one must find other pursuits to fill his time if he is to achieve true joy and satisfaction. And I'm doing that, as well. But there are times when happenstance knocks us off our feet a little bit, and it's all we can do to get ourselves into a mindless pursuit. And that's when you are the best of friends.

And as I pick my head up and start building up stronger foundations to keep me in a place where I don't need you as much, anymore, I must shake your metaphorical hand and thank you for riding it out with me. We won't see as much of each other as we have been, but by no means will I turn my back on you fully. By Jove, there is still our July date in the form of the Transformers movie. And I'm sure something else will come up before then.

So thank you, Escapism Pure and True. I enjoyed your company today, as I almost always do, and I look forward to a future, joyful meeting.

Back in the Saddle,
CVT

Respect

Out of respect for my grandmother's passing, I will not be writing new blog entries for the rest of this week. Check back in this Saturday for a return to my blogging ways.

Respectfully,
CVT

Dear Eye Color

Dear Eye Color,

Hey. I had a lot of fun messing around with you today, and I just wanted to write you a little note of appreciation. Maybe I should play with you more often.

So this week at school we're having a "Mix-it-up Week" in which we discuss the benefits of changing things up (mostly in reference to cliques and racial segregation), and we have been doing a lot of different activities around that theme (for example, today a few of the staff and teachers swapped jobs, so our Program Assistant was teaching girls' sex ed and that teacher was answering phones and doing other administrative work). It's mostly a fun thing for the kids, but there have been some backfires (our kids don't necessarily handle change all that well).

Anyway, in honor of you, I decided to break out the colored contacts for a day. I've often considered getting colored contacts just for fun, but I finally relented a little while back and picked up some grey-colored contacts. Now, my you is normally brown (as you should know), so it's a pretty drastic change for me to go grey.

Or so I thought. Turns out that not everybody noticed. Eventually, the word got out that my you had changed over night, but not everybody was aware of it until it was pointed out. Soon the rumor spread that I had had some crazy eye surgery, and my new you was a result and a large number of kids were asking me about that.

Mostly, though, I just had a lot of kids sticking their faces up in mine all day long as they tried to see the contacts. Surprisingly, there were some who very much violated my personal bubble to see what was up to then declare, "I don't see anything."

Because of my natural you, colored contacts don't entirely hide the brown part of my eye. The contacts also slide around a bit on my eye, so the colored part doesn't necessarily sit in the right spot, so I had some strange brown rims with grey circles floating off to the side - which made me look a little bit possessed. In spite of that, some kids just weren't convinced that there was anything different about me.

Funny how some things just get missed.

But it was fun, Eye Color, playing around with you. It felt like Halloween or something - like I was hiding behind a mask or facepaint (oh holy crap how I love facepaint). It made me feel just a little bit more playful and in a good mood (which, of course, didn't last throughout the WHOLE day, but still). It was quite an experiment.

The next step, of course, is to get those professional Hollywood contacts that make it look like my eyeball is hemorrhaging and get the kids to treat me a little better for a day because my eye is bloody. Or at least scare them a little bit. Or just to get to cover my eyes as they come in in the morning and say, "my eye feels a little itchy, can you see anything?" before showing them my bloody orbit.

Can you tell I work at a middle school? Now, do you think people with less maturity choose to teach middle school or middle school peels off a layer of maturity? Better yet - do the kids rub off on us, or do WE rub off on them?

This is getting too deep for a letter about you, Eye Color, so I'll cut it there. Not to say that you're not deep*, my friend, but you know what I mean.

So, on that note, I'll return my you back to its original, beautiful brown (I actually do appreciate my real you more now) and head off on my merry way. Thanks for the pick-me-up today.

Brown-eyed-blogger,
CVT

*Have you ever, like, WONDERED about - like - what if people were judged by EYE color instead of - you know - SKIN color . . ?

Dear CPR Training

Dear CPR Training,

This is going to be a pretty short letter because you fried my brain this afternoon. However, I felt the need to write you because the whole experience was so upsetting.

This afternoon, after school, we had a full-staff you for FOUR HOURS. Now, I'm not a big fan of any training to begin with, and doing it after a full day of work is a terrible idea no matter what the situation, but you were absolutely terrible. It's not that I didn't learn anything (although, maybe I didn't) - it's just that you were so unnecessarily long.

You see, I work with a bunch of youth workers. Since that's our job (and has been for most of us for quite some time), every single person in that you had taken you MANY times in the past. However, some foolio decided that it was necessary to renew CPR certification EVERY YEAR - no matter what your experience level. Now, I could handle that if there was a way to do an easy re-certification test or a mini training each year, but that is not the case. Oh no - instead, to get my CPR certification renewed, I had to do the SAME you that I did last year, and the year before that, and the five years prior to that. FOUR HOURS' WORTH.

And that's the thing. The initial training shouldn't even take four hours - but a refresher course for a bunch of people who have already done you in the past? Ridiculous. Their new angle is to constantly remind us how it's "not rocket science" and it's so easy. For four hours. Four hours of telling us not to worry about the little details, but to stick to the major points, so we don't freak out and not do it at all. They tell us that. And then tell us that. And then tell us that. And then go on to cover every little tiny detail that they just told us to ignore in the first half-hour.

And then comes the part where they teach us how to use an AED (Automatic-Emergency-Defribillation device). Basically, it's a portable defribillator for people that have suffered a heart attack. So what do you need to know to use one? Nothing. Literally - nothing; it TALKS to you. It tells you what to do, step by step. And the steps? Basically - put the pad on. Keep clear. Push the button. Keep clear. That's it.

No - seriously - that's it. Everything else is automatically taken care of. And the trainer's advice was: "listen to the directions. Even somebody who has never been trained can easily use one." So how long did that segment take us?

Oh, come on - guess.

ONE HOUR. ONE HOUR to remind us to "listen to directions" and not to freak out because training is not necessary to use one. The guy trained me for an hour to remember in a crisis situation that I don't need training to use the machine. I kid you not (and I exaggerate not). I almost threw a chair.

I can't believe how absolutely ridiculous and frustrating you were, CPR Training. Honestly. They basically pay people to fill four hours trying to justify their jobs as CPR trainers when I could just as effectively re-train somebody else (in terms of useful knowledge in an emergency) in about half an hour. If they have questions I can't answer? Try the f-ing internet.

And for those folks out there that have never had the pleasure of going through you - congratulations. It's enough to make a man rethink a career in youth work.

Or at least drive him to throwing chairs (like the students he teaches). I suppose that's the one thing I really did learn today - I'm not so different from my kids as I think.

Not so different, indeed.

Prepared,
CVT

Dear Toothpick

Dear Toothpick,

Wow - I really needed you this evening, and you were there when I needed you. Thank you so much.

You see, I decided that I wanted to eat a mango tonight. I went to the grocery store with the intention of just picking up some bagels for breakfast tomorrow, but I made the mistake of wandering through the produce aisle before I got there, and those mangoes were calling my name.

Which is interesting - because, if you know me, you know that I happen to be a mango snob. Big-time. Time after time people have offered me juicy, delicious mangoes for my eating enjoyment, and I have declined or dismissed their deliciousness as nothing special. Why, you ask? I'll tell you why. I blame it on my time in Tanzania. See - when I was living in Tanzania, they had "mango season." People here in the States may not understand that kind of thing because we can generally get unnaturally ripe fruits any old time of the year, but in Tanzania, there was a mango season.

And during that season, there were mangoes. Millions of them. Cheap, juicy, fresh and REAL mangoes. And this is the kicker - they were f-ing HUGE. While pretty much every other fruit and vegetable in Tanzania was much smaller than the behemoths we have become used to in the industrialized world (with the exception of the ginormous avocadoes), the mangoes were about the size of a Nerf Turbo football. If you don't know what that is, picture a semi-mini-football made out of fun noodle material with a rocket tail on the end. That's what I'm referring to. And if you still can't picture the size of said object, just know that it's freaking HUGE for a mango.

Point being - not only were the mangoes much tastier in Tanzania than anywhere else I've ever been (including Chinatown), they were about three times larger. And we're in America, so we KNOW that bigger is better.

Right. So, in spite of everything I just wrote above, I had the urge to eat a mango tonight, and I indulged said urge. And what happened? Well, I started off being all careful and "civilized" about the whole deal - cutting off the peel and then cutting small slices of mango flesh to eat a piece at a time. And that was okay, but it just wasn't as satisfying as I would have liked. So I did what any self-respecting mango-eater would do - I started to gnaw that mango flesh straight from the pit. And I was rewarded with much more satisfaction and taste.

But I was also punished - and viciously. Because (if you've ever gnawed a mango, you know this well) those little stringy bits of gnawed mango made their way into my teeth. About a million of them. Tiny, teentsie strings caught right up between every one of my teeth (and a few strings per tooth). It was terrible. That feeling of a whole bunch of crap caught in my teeth - it was like I had been scraping bark off a tree with my bottom teeth. Or if I had been vacuuming a shaggy carpet with my face. Terrible.

And that's where YOU came into play, Toothpick. Now, I know there are a lot of people out there who would have gone to Dental Floss in that situation - and I have nothing against them - but I knew that YOU were the one I needed. I knew that Dental Floss - although effective - just wouldn't give me the tool-using pleasure that you would provide. And I was right. I had to work at my teeth for quite a while to reach maximum tooth-gap cleanage, but I reached it, and I felt like I EARNED it. There's just something less manly about using Dental Floss - like trying to pick a fight while drinking a beverage through a straw - it just doesn't FEEL right. It does the trick, but . . .

No. Not for me. I go with you every time. I feel like I'm going back to my roots when I use you, Toothpick. Plus, there's the added bonus of being able to chew on you and flip you around in my mouth after your practical use is over. And there will never be a day when somebody can use Dental Floss to clean their teeth with just their lips and tongue - unlike my very special skills with you. You're just so COOL, Toothpick. So very, very cool.

That's why restaurants offer you. That's why sandwiches are held together with big yous. That's why people build ridiculous models with you. Because you are so damn awesome.

And so I wrote you this letter. As a testament to your unparalleled coolness in the tooth-gap-cleaning world (don't even MENTION Toothbrush to me right now). And as a long-overdue thank you for the years and years of oral fixative pleasures you have provided me. You just keep on doing what you're doing, and I'll always choose YOU.

Looking so cool as I flip you,
CVT

Dear Drawing

Dear Drawing,

I spent some time with you tonight, and I have to say - it's been too long since we've spent quality time together. I could have been a pretty decent artist by now if I hadn't forsaken you for the last two years. However, tonight you reminded me of what I can do, and I think I want to do more you (MUCH more) from here on out.

With that in mind, I have come up with a plan. First off, every Monday night, there is a drop-in figure-drawing session at a local art studio (where I went tonight). I'm going to go to that. Second, I'm going to make sure I'm drawing SOMETHING at least a couple other evenings a week. And then comes phase two.

Just as this blog was created as a means to get me WRITING every day (or pretty close to it), I don't really see why I can't also use it as motivation to get me YOU almost every day (now that I figured out how to get pictures on it). So, sometime in the near future when I get me a way to scan images and upload them onto this, I'm going to start posting some yous onto this site on days when I don't feel up to writing letters. As the recent poor quality of my letters demonstrate, I just need a break sometime (or else the daily practice ends up making me WORSE) - so what better way to take a break than to practice my you?

I don't really see one.

So, prepare yourself, Drawing, because I'm going to be doing a lot more of you in the coming days. And, hopefully pretty soon, I'm going to be displaying some of my yous on this very website. Now, I'd like to throw in a disclaimer right off the bat (so nobody gets too upsot/disappointed): first, the figure-drawing is of nude models, so any Puritans out there should be careful about visiting my site. Second, I'm not claiming to be that great at you, so let's not get our expectations too high. Just as my daily letters are not of the highest quality, let's just assume that my yous are going to be at a similar level (because the whole point of this is to start really practicing so I can get BETTER - if I was already great, why would I be wasting time posting them for free on the web?).

So there you have it - my master plan. I never thought I'd stick with this whole blog thing, and I have, so who's to say that I won't start you on a regular basis? Why not? If we keep up this insane rate of productivity, I might very well have taken over the world by the end of my Ten-Year Plan (which, for those counting at home, is currently in Year Five*).

So thank you, Drawing, for getting me so inspired and motivating me to actually do something productive with my free time. Let's hope I follow through.

Picasso I am Not,
CVT

*That's right - my Ten-Year Plan and the Mayan calendar both end in 2012. Coincidence? I think NOT.

Dear The Zone

Dear The Zone,

I'm writing you because I spent a decent amount of time in you today, and I really appreciated it. I needed it. Man - did I need it.

Now, there are a lot of different ways people may try defining you, and I'm not one to argue with any of them. For me, however, I'd refer to being in you as any sort of "getting lost" in some sort of process. When the world around me fades to a hazy fog, and all that is really important or taking my focus is that which is immediately in front of me. For me, this is mainly achieved through the various arts (painting, drawing, making music, and peformance). Of course, to me "performance" can be a reference to engaging in competitive sports - which is when I most often find myself in you. I have plenty of reasons to include athletics as an art form, but we'll save that particular treatise for another day. Today - we're concentrating on you, The Zone.

Today, I got to enter your world while painting - something I haven't done in quite some time. For me, painting is one of those things that I know that I should do more often - and I enjoy it when I do - but it takes so much for me to make it happen. I'm a very momentum-based person, and so it takes a lot of creative momentum for me to get motivated to deal with all the set-up and prep that painting requires. However, once that momentum has built up and I find myself painting, it pushes me right into you every time. The next thing I know, I'm looking up from my canvas (or whatever I happen to be painting on), and five hours have passed, and I have forgotten to eat. And I feel profoundly calm and satisfied.

Why is that, I wonder? I believe that the explanation lies in meditation. I am not a person who meditates - I have tried it before for a short period, but I wouldn't say that I have ever been able to enter a meditative state. That said, I believe that when I put myself in you during the creative process, I am basically achieving that meditative state. Being in a state of mind where my sense of self is completely gone, and there is only a flowing sense of MAKING SOMETHING (which includes making something HAPPEN in sports). I imagine that - if somebody were to do tests on it (in fact, I bet somebody has) - all of my vital signs like breathing, metabolic rate, brain waves, etc. would register the same while I'm in you as somebody in a deep meditative state.

So is any of this ground-breaking or new information? Of course not. I am not the first person to ever make that connection, and I won't be the last - but I just wanted to let you know how I appreciate it. I have not been the happiest person in the world the last few weeks, and I desperately needed the peace and calm I feel right now as a result of having been in you for the major part of the day. If only classroom teaching could replicate the controlled-chaos feel of playing competitive sports and allow me to enter you each day - now THAT would be something special. In fact, I bet that does happen for some people after a while. I suppose it would take many more years for me to reach that kind of level . . .

I'm imagining how that might feel: standing in front of the class and watching the kids do their thing as if it was in slow motion. My vision becoming clearer as my peripheral vision expands and takes in the entire environment as one cohesive whole. I turn my back to write on the board, and then FEEL a child pick up their pencil and move to throw it. Being in you - I don't even think as I spin around and back-step into the path of the projectile, catching it and calling the kid out at the same time. As the kid's mouth drops open, I turn back to the board and feel a jolt of exhilaration run through me - relishing the whole process and hoping for the kids to up the ante, so that I can really respond to the challenge and make use of my heightened senses. At the end of the day - for having been in you for a full 6 hours - I sit down at my desk and take a big, satisfying breath. I am calm and at peace, and I just can't wait until the next day to pick up where I left off.

Wow. Now THAT'S what a life should look like. That's got to be the ultimate goal - to do for a living something that puts us in you every single day. That's when it all comes together. Nirvana. Enlightenment. Whatever you want to call it. Monks reach it by sitting in a temple all day being moderate - I want to reach it by simply immersing myself in what I do.

I'm never going to be a pro athlete. Or an artist. Or a musician. The Buddha of teaching? Well - a man can dream, can't he?

Ooooohhhhhmmmmmm.
CVT

Dear Doing Nothing

Dear Doing Nothing,

I had all sorts of plans for myself for today. I was going to go downtown, walk around a bit, get some fresh air and just get the hell out of my house. I was going to run some errands and maybe try to catch a movie. But you know what? Instead, I ended up you today. And I'm pretty happy about it.

The thing is that doing SOMETHING is often overrated. In this American culture of ours, there's this tendency to look down on you as if it's an indication of laziness or worthlessness. For the younger folks out there, it also is associated with "uncoolness." If a young person ends up you on a weekend night (especially), it's supposed to be a sign of having the dreaded No Life, which is unacceptable to our generation. But you know what? I have absolutely no problem with it.

Because the thing is this: even if I didn't have a destroyed knee (which is a great excuse to end up you on a given Saturday), I would very likely happily be you today, anyway. I had myself a LONG, rough week. I haven't been sleeping well. So it feels pretty damn good to get to just kick up my feet and spend a large portion of the day in bed reading. I earned it.

And I know, Doing Nothing, this is starting to sound like I'm defending myself as if I don't truly believe that you are great. And, sometimes, I'm not entirely sure. There's definitely something in the back of my mind on weekends that whispers to me, 'aren't you going to do something special this weekend?' Something that tugs at me and congratulates me on a busy weekend full of things to be done. It's true. And I do feel a bit worthless for not having made it out of the house today.

But I ENJOY you. I really do. Days like this make me think back to my childhood when I used to spend hours upon hours in my bed reading during my free time. Sometimes, during the summer, I'd really change it up by climbing up into a tree with a bag of snacks and reading up there, instead. And it felt glorious. I never felt a single twinge of guilt that I used so many days in that way.

And then I started becoming socially conscious, and it ruined everything. Suddenly, I knew that I was supposed to "use" my days wisely. I was supposed to have "things to do." It wasn't cool to read all the time. Not good to be a complete recluse. And so I started to DO things with other people my age more and more often. This horrible trend continued through my first year of living here in Portland.

But once I began teaching, things changed. I stopped having the energy and desire to socialize. I found myself drawn back more and more often into a nice, quiet night in bed with a book. I learned to treasure my "nothing time," feeling a little let-down when I blew a full weekend by being busy and not taking the time to find myself you. And that's where I find myself most of the time these days.

Because the thing is that I'm naturally inclined to be more hermit-like than anything else. Sure, I enjoy myself in social situations on occasion, but I sure as hell don't enjoy doing any of the things that "cool" folk my age tend to do. I'm more like a 50 year-old man in my social habits and tendencies than anything close to my own age - and that's just fine with me. If only I was as close to retirement as a 50 year-old . . .

So, anyway, that's why I've suddenly come back into your life so strongly, Doing Nothing. Maybe it's not a healthy thing for us to see so much of each other, but these days, I wouldn't want it any other way.

Keep doing what you're not doing,
CVT

P.S. My posts have been pretty dreadful lately. I apologize. Probably something to do with the fact that keeping a blog going would fall under the category of "Something."

Dear Ready Early

Dear Ready Early,

I've had a rough week. ROUGH. Blew out my knee. Got sick again. The kids at school are totally out of control. And for a combination of all of those things, I haven't been sleeping well at all. Not at all - which, of course, compounds the roughness of all said things.

But today - today, I am you. Completely you, and it feels nice. I have nothing to do for the next half-hour as I sit at my computer at school, and I am pretty happy about it. Today is still going to be a bit rough, of course, but at least I have these minutes at the beginning of the day - the calm spot before the storm - to write in my blog and feel some peace. Quite different from most days when I'm running around trying to get prepared right as the kids are set to come in.

And it's Friday. I always know that I can survive any one day (no matter how bad), so I'm going to make it. And then I get two days to just do whatever I can to get myself on track.

Now, I have never been a "morning person." Through most of my life, I have always preferred to sleep in and stay in bed as long as humanly possible every morning. But, because of this job and my need to get up quite early, I have slowly moved along the spectrum more towards "morning person." And I think a lot of that can be contributed to wanting to be you, Ready Early. My life - and work - gets a lot easier on any given day when I'm you. It also helps when I'm organized and ahead of the game in terms of planning and all that (as in days ahead of schedule). This job has really made me appreciate you and your uncle, Organization.

The only thing about being you right now is that it makes me want to sit back and just space out and enjoy this time I have, instead of putting any real thought and wit into this letter. And, of course, as I am still not quite a morning person, I am a bit tired and brain-addled, as well.

And so I will end this now. But just understand that you are appreciated, and I plan to enjoy you fully for the next 20 minutes.

Aaaaaaaahhhhhh . . .
CVT

Dear Little Break

Dear Little Break,

I've put in another good push - a number of days straight of daily blogging, and I think I have earned me a you (at least for tonight). Besides, we're getting to that point in my blogging days where all the people who were going to "read it every day" have begun to tire of it all, the gimmick is running thin, and I really am back to a single Loyal Reader.

And to show you how bad things have gotten, said Loyal Reader hasn't even commented in days. If a tree falls in the woods but nobody is there to hear it, does it make a sound?

If a blog is updated daily on the internet but nobody is there to comment or read it, is it really posted?

Okay, that didn't really work as well as it could have, but I'm tired - and you get the point. Work is long these days, Lack of Motivation is at my side every second, and I think we'd all just be better off if I took a you. So I shall.

Thank you, Little Break, for existing and allowing me to take you.

Time to elevate,
CVT

Dear Spider-Man 3

Dear Spider-Man 3,

Oh, my dear heavens. A little while ago, I wrote a letter to another film in order to thank it for the joy it spread through my heart - with the hope that the letter would encourage others to experience the same joy. Today, I have a very different task at hand: I write you to warn potential viewers away from you and say one thing - SHAME ON YOU.

How dare you? I mean - honestly - how DARE you?!! Now, I went to go see you knowing full well how bad the other films were. I was aware of that. And I went into it with pretty low expectations. I figured that you would be pretty ridiculous and dumb, but have enough cool effects and action to be fun.

I was so wrong. Not only were you ridiculous and dumb, but you took that to the next level. It was like you were written and made simply as a way to make fun of anybody who went to see you. There was one sequence in the film (and it was about ten minutes) where I was honestly embarrassed FOR you and everybody else in the theatre with me who had paid money to watch you (for those who haven't seen the movie, it was a 70s-esque sequence complete with MULTIPLE shots of Toby Maguire pelvic thrusting and hand-jiving). I just don't understand. Were you made to be a late April Fool's joke on the movie-going public? Because any other explanation just boggles the mind.

You were a long film. Well over two hours (close to two and a half, actually). Now, I have a problem - in general - with the tendency these days for directors and producers to make all these long films. It's as if all the quality editors of the past were laid off, and illiterate baboons were hired in their stead. Somewhere along the line, directors were given too much power, and their absolute inability to see the benefit of good editing and cutting has cost us all. How could an adaptation of an hour and a half movie become more than three hours (see King Kong)? It's beyond imagining. For anybody who knows anything about the ability of editing to bring a story (or paper or whatever else) some clarity and quality - PLEASE write your congressman and beg that two-hour movies only be allowed with a license (and a good editor on staff).

But back to YOU, Spider-Man 3. You were long and filled with the most preposterously bad acting, melodramatic scenes, and the absolutely CHEESIEST musical score. The only other place a person can hear music like that in the modern age is while watching some sort of spoof. And I can't shake the feeling that maybe that's what you were . . .

And the tears. THE TEARS!!! How often in a single bad action movie can you have the main characters (or the secondary or tertiary characters) cry!?? It loses its lustre after a while. I mean, honestly.

Did I mention the acting was painful? I kept thinking the characters were supposed to be acting as if they were acting poorly as part of the plot progression. I was wrong. Although I was right about one thing - there were a few scenes acted out so terribly by extras that I hypothesized that they must have been relatives of somebody in the business. A quick look at IMDB later: three "actors" with the last name of "Raimi" (for those scoring at home, the director was Sam Raimi).

But this is the most disturbing part of the whole thing: my students said that you were GOOD. Now, I assumed that that would mean that you were dumb but full of a lot of eye-candy action sequences, so you can imagine how shocked I was that at least three-fourths of the movie was a terrible soap opera spurned-lover/hurt-friend fest (with, of course, tears). They even showed Hurt-Friend Number One (Harry Osbourne, Jr.) painting a freaking STILL-LIFE!!!! Since when do middle school boys love soap operas and STILL-LIFES!!!??? I'm going to make fun of the nancy-boys first thing tomorrow morning. I've never been so disappointed in my entire time as a teacher (and this is from a guy who teaches at a school where we had to start locking the boys' bathroom and instituting a sign-in policy because somebody kept peeing all over the floor).

Wow. You have hurt me, deeply. I know I should have expected this from you. And, in a way, I did. But holy crap, man - I don't know that anybody could have been prepared for that. Why are Marvel-based comics movies so notoriously bad? And how do they keep making so much money?

Oh - right. Because idiots like me keep going.

Well. Well.

Well at least I have a torn ACL.

Not mad - just disappointed,
CVT

Dear "If Only"

Dear "If Only,"

Hey, man - what's up? I was hoping I wouldn't be seeing you for a while, but I've seen a lot of you recently. Not always a bad thing, of course, but sometimes, man, I just wish you wouldn't come around.

You have a tendency to make a bad situation a lot worse, you know? When I start thinking about you, it only makes me more frustrated about something that can't be changed and leads to worthless regret. "You I just ran straight up field instead of trying to juke." "You the Sharks had scored on that shot instead of going down by two goals." "You I had more money." "You the winters didn't suck so bad here."

Your presence very seldom represents a positive thing in my life. But it's so hard not to fall back on you when some dumb bad luck happens. There's always at least one little thing that - if done differently - could have avoided a bad situation. On the other hand, the same thing probably applies to any good situation, and I don't invite you over when that happens. So maybe it's just on me - if I'm going to hang out with you during the frustrating times, I should hang out with you on the exciting days, as well - celebrate with you and appreciate what I got. It's not really your fault. I suppose if I switched it up to "You I had decided NOT to go work at camp, I never would have made the friends I did or ended up getting a job I enjoy." And that's true. And definitely flips the script a bit.

So that will be MY mission: to balance out my time with you. I'll spend less time with you when I have some stroke of bad luck and spend more time with you during the good. The weather's supposed to be pretty nice this weekend - you want to come over for a barbecue? I'll throw it in your honour and think about all the little things that have worked out for me that easily could have gone the other way. And there's a ton more of those than the negative.

So, yeah - I definitely would have enjoyed going on a bike ride or a walk on this beautiful day today, but at least I got to see the sun. It's amazing what a good dose of "Everything happens for a reason" can do for a man - I should probably write her a letter soon.

Alright then. I have a feeling I'll be seeing you a few more times in the coming days, but I'll do everything I can to make sure I invite you over for some good times, as well.

Head up,
CVT

Dear Right Knee

Dear Right Knee,

I am so sorry. I was going to write a letter asking you "not to do this to me," but I have since realized that I did this to YOU. I mean, you never even got a chance to choose whether or not you were going to play football tonight - I just selfishly steamed ahead as if your only importance is to give ME stability and enable me to be so good at sports.

And this is even after our last episode when I tore your PCL. You tried to warn me with pain on two separate occasions to just lay off and let that slightly-torn PCL heal, but I wouldn't listen. No - I just kept playing until we had fully ruptured that little guy and we were f-ed. And then you still treated me so good as to come through physical therapy at 100% after that - giving me the ability to play football again, and be just as good as I had been before. And then I go and do this.

Granted, there was likely no way for me to avoid it (outside of just not playing ever again, which I wouldn't be able to keep from doing and still be happy). It was just total dumb luck. I made a great leaping catch (I was even a little impressed with myself on that one), landed and looked to juke and get free just as some guy rolled into the side of my knee. And that was that. No audible POP this time, but I know what major you damage feels like now, and that's what it feels like.

And then I followed my dad's advice and did some little tests, and although I'm not a licensed medical professional, I can pretty safely say that you did not pass. ACL tear it most likely is. The best part is that I won't be able to know for sure for quite some time because orthopedic doctors are notoriously difficult to pin down - especially with good old Kaiser. The positive: at least I have health insurance. I have most definitely learned the value and importance of health insurance. Thank you so much for teaching that to me, Right Knee.

And so here we are. I should be elevating you right now (I hope that ice helps a bit), but I needed to write my blog. Even world-shattering knee injuries won't keep me from continuing on.

Karma has been having its way with me these last couple weeks. Making fun of my friend Gate because he goes running all the time, making jokes about how "I'm going to go running, too" when we both know that I hate running (and any exercise without competition or a game involved) with all my heart. And now I'm back to it. Me and individual exercises (not for many months, of course) as I get to rehab all over again. Hooray.

I was just thinking the other day how exciting it would be to get to work at camp and be fully able to play Capture the Flag for the first year (out of three). Broken ankle two summers ago. Torn PCL last summer. And an ACL this one. Couldn't it at least happen in the winter time when I don't want to leave the f-ing house, anyway? Winters hit me so hard here, and yet I'm not even allowed to enjoy a single summer with full physical capabilities!!! Makes me think I should probably just get the hell out of here - I hate the winters, and the summers are bad luck. What can I say?

Time to get me a badass wheelchair and go play "Murderball."

Anyway. I just thought I should apologize with the fullness of my heart, Right Knee. You will never understand how much I really appreciate all the things you've done for me and allowed me to do in our time together - and THIS is how I repay you. I don't know how I can ever make it up to you . . .

I'm sorry,
CVT

Dear Television

Dear Television,

You've come a long way, baby. A LONG way. I don't know what it must feel like for you to have changed so much over the years, but I can tell you that - even from my side - it's pretty amazing.

You see, we (my roommates and I) finally bought a new you today. In fact, it was the first new you purchase I've ever been a part of, and it was kind of amazing. For the last three years, we have been watching you on a piece-of-crap Zenith you that I got off Craigslist for $30. It was terrible then, and it hasn't gotten any better. Not a single live sporting event went by without one of us asking at some point, "What's the score? Is that SIXTY-eight or EIGHTY-eight?" Every zero looked like a six looked like an eight looked like a nine. And that's if the scores were even completely on the screen (because a big chunk of the picture bled out the bottom).

And the color was terrible, too. Everything had a hazy red cast to it, like we were denizens of the future, watching our sporting events on Mars. It was difficult to tell for sure if a given player was black or white. When we watched hockey or soccer, we just had to take it on faith that the cameraman knew where the puck or ball was and follow the player. The finer aspects of televised viewing were lost on us, to say the least.

So, after so many years talking about how bad it was and "planning" on buying a new you, we finally just up and did it. And can I say - it was unbelievable. Just watching the end of some playoff hockey (I don't want to talk about the final result), we were able to SEE THE PUCK!!! I didn't have to wait for the announcer to let me know if it was a goal or not. The ice was WHITE (as opposed to the reddish-brown I had become used to). It's really quite an amazing experience.

And all this made me think about how far you've come in the last 50 years or so. From looking at all the gigantic, flat-screen, widescreen, HD yous at the store, it was hard to believe that people used to watch grainy black-and-white yous as the wave of the future rolled in. I found myself wondering - what are the yous of the future going to be like when I am complaining about the one I just got as a "piece of crap?"

My roommate Matt probably had the right of it when his prediction was a piece of rollable film or plastic that just sticks to the wall. In fact, they already have computer-screens that work in pretty much that way. Wall-screens from all those cheesy sci-fi movies will very likely be a reality at some point - and maybe not that long from now. That is f-ing crazy. If I ever have kids, they're just going to find it hilarious that my yous all looked like a box - "why would you put your screen on a box?"

And, of course, everybody will have their own private you in the guise of a phone or music player (or both). How does that feel? Does that excite you, or do you miss the good old days when it was a luxury for a household to have just one of you? I suppose that's still the case in many Third-World countries - is that a good thing to you? I wonder. In America, it's always perceived best to get slimmer while improving your overall quality - so you're living the dream, I suppose. But so many of you are made in Japan, China, and elsewhere. Does that change your dream?

Does being the focal point of most Americans' leisure time make you feel good or really sad? Your promotion of laziness and the avoidance of going outdoors can't be something you're 100% proud of, can it? I don't know. It's really hard to guess what it would be like without being in those shoes, so I won't even pretend I know what it's like to be you, Television.

Which is why I'm writing this letter. On this day, as others commemorate Cinco de Mayo, I am commemorating the relentless advance of you technolody, and I can only hope that you can answer some of my questions. The world needs to know how YOU feel about it all, because I think so few people care to even ask you. And most of those people who do are probably locked up.

So, tell me, Television - how do you FEEL?

Mindless Zombie,
CVT

Dear Flip Flops

Dear Flip Flops,

Hey - it was really good to see you this evening. I mean - REALLY good. I don't know why I get so strangely excited about seeing you and wearing you, but I do. I definitely do.

I suppose the main reason I'm such a fan of yours is because you signify warm weather for me - and everyone (and I emphasize ONE) that has read my blog knows how the weather affects me. Plus, my feet are always the last part of me to warm up, so if it's warm enough out to wear you, then it's got to be pretty nice. I also hate wearing you in the rain because then my feet get all wet, slimy, and dirty, and I don't like that. So if I'm wearing you, it means it's dry, as well. Right now I'm imagining wearing you and shorts on a beautiful, dry summer day . . . Siigh.

Not so far off, really.

It's unfortunate because when I started wearing you, you weren't half as hip as you are today. In fact, I'd probably like you more if you were less hip. It's kind of like how it was hard to like the Dave Matthews Band once all the frat boys were listening to them - it doesn't feel good to think that I share tastes with "cool" idiots. However, in spite of your hipness, I still enjoy you quite a lot - which is something.

The thing is, in spite of your hipness, it's really hard to find a good pair of you out in the world. For over four years, I've been wearing one of three pairs of you I picked up in Tanzania - my famous "OK Sandals." And they have been so good to me. Those lovely striped yous - pink, red and white or green, light green and white. Beautiful. But those are on their last legs (or worse), and I was forced to look for a new pair; and that's when I found out how difficult it is to find good yous.

Because men's yous aren't designed for somebody like me. Every pair I see in the stores are trying to be all "manly" and "hip," and so they come in various shades of brown with some sort of leather involved (and cost many tens of dollars). That's just not what I'm looking for. I want stupid designs and/or obnoxious colours. But those kinds of yous are only made in women's sizes, and no matter how hard I try, those just won't fit me. So I was forced to buy a pair of dark blue yous the other day, and it made me want to weep imagining wearing those in the summer; better than wearing sneakers - yes - but still something to cry about.

However, I'm a persistent fellow, so I decided that I would have to do something about it. My first thought was my friend Jay (who I believe may have been the author of the PB & J response letter) who is headed back to Tanzania in a short amount of time. The only problem is that he won't be getting back from Tanzania until AFTER the summer, so by the time I can get my replacement OK Sandals, it will be too late to really enjoy them. I am still going that route, but I need something for THIS summer.

And then I realized - there is always EBay. In fact, I owe Ebay a letter sometime in the near future. All I had to do was type your name in the search engine and start scrolling through various types of yous on sale, and and I was rewarded with some promising versions. The problem was that all the most promising obnoxious designs for men were advertisements for various beers and alcohol. Now, I bet my reader might be thinking that that would be "cool," but that would just prove him/her to be a sucker. No, to have funny stupid yous, you must think outside the media box.

So I pushed on, and I was rewarded for my persistence - a pair of yous with the Irish flag emblazoned across the whole top. There were many different country flags to choose from (most of them Central or South American), but I am a man that sticks to honest representation, and so I chose the flag of my (far distant) Fatherland. Not Russia, but my other Fatherland. It's fitting, because I recently lost my favourite winter knit cap, which was an "Ireland" black wool cap with the Irish flag on it. I liked to wear it so that people who tried to deny me my Irish roots could be put in their place. So now that I have found an equally fine replacement, I can continue to do that.

If I could have, of course, I would have purchased a pair of CHINESE flag yous to be worn on my Chinese days. But, unfortunately, none were to be found. However, I won't give up so easily, and I will continue to search for Russian or Chinese versions to complete the collection.

So, as you well know, Flip Flops, I received you in the mail today. And - MY oh MY - aren't you wonderful. Ridiculously large (I ordered size 12 but received size 14s), but wonderful. You are actually the most comfortable pair of yous I have ever worn (which isn't saying a whole lot because OK Sandals are notoriously poorly-made and uncomfortable - but still), and I really can't wait for the weather to improve, so I can strut my stuff and flaunt you around town. Nothing impresses people more than ridiculous, oversized, country-flag yous. And that's a fact.

So like I said - it was great to see you this evening, and I am really looking forward to spending a lot of time with you. I'll be sure to treat you with nothing but respect, and I hope you return the favor.

So Excited,
CVT

P.S. Does it seem to you like I suddenly reverted to third grade writing in my sentence-structure on this letter? I apologize for that. The only excuse I can come up with is that I'm tired.

Dear Spectacles

Dear Spectacles,

I hope this gets to the right person, because there's always the risk that this will get sent to the Spectacles family, who are always causing a ruckus and embarrassing themselves in public. They are so embarrassing, actually, that I have nothing to say to them - by letter or otherwise. So, instead, I hope this gets to you, Spectacles, because I am so appreciative of the way you correct my vision.

I have bad eyes. Terrible eyes. Of everybody I know that is even close to my age, my eyes are the worst. It's just the unfortunate grace of God that I am so amazing in every way except my deficient vision. To try to make it clear (no pun intended) to those that have decent-to-normal vision: I am currently sitting in my bedroom at my desk. The lights are off, but it is daytime, and there is light coming in through my one, small basement window. With you on my face, I can look at my wall about 15 feet away from me and pretty clearly see the outlines of the continents on my 5-foot-wide world map. When I take you off, I can barely tell that there is some sort of poster on the wall.

Pretty bad, eh? But this is the miracle of it all: because of you and your cousin Contacts, it just doesn't really matter. In spite of the fact that I have a major physical defect that would have cost my ancestors their lives at a young age, my life is normal to extra-normal. Instead of dying violently at the hands of a predator I cannot even see - or from starvation because I can't see well enough to find food or hunt - I am perfectly capable of attracting a mate (well, not PERFECTLY, I guess) and forwarding my genes to the next generation. Because of YOU, Spectacles, I can pass on my physical deformity to my kids.

A thousand years ago, I would have no chance to have kids. It's hard to believe, isn't it? And really - I owe you thanks for the fact that I exist at all. Since both of my parents also have terrible vision, it is unlikely that either of them would have survived to a reproductive age without your help, as well. Pretty incredible.

But big picture aside, you still make a HUGE difference in my life. Now, to be honest, your cousin Contacts spends much more time with me and gives me more DIRECT benefits. Contacts helps me play sports and go out into the world and pretend I'm cool (because glasses still aren't so cool unless you're a hipster). Contacts also allows me to drive more comfortably (because I don't have real peripheral vision with you on). However, all of these things are indirectly thanks to you. Without advances in you technology, your cousin wouldn't even exist - and, therefore, all of said benefits wouldn't exist, either.

Getting beyond all that, you help me in other ways, as well. At the end of a long day of work (and I tell you, as this school year slowly rolls to a close, the days are LONG), nothing feels better than to come home, take out your cousin, and put you on. I've come to associate relaxation and rest with having you on. This is because the only times I wear you are when I'm just chilling at home. On the weekends when I have no immediate plans to go anywhere. At night after work when I am officially in for the rest of the evening. Whenever I'm planning on staying in my house and hiding from the world (because I don't like interacting with other human beings without Contacts), you are there.

So I have conditioned myself to automatically start relaxing when I am wearing you. You signify my leisure time, and - believe you me - I appreciate it.

Also, after a long enough time of wearing your cousin, my eyes start to dry out something furious, and it's just so uncomfortable. So when I take them out to put you on, it's pure Heaven. When I have a headache from the effects of Dehydration, all I can think about is getting home to take out Contacts and put you on - and it's instant mitigation of the pain.

See? You make my life better in so many ways. Your cousin may enable me to lead an active lifestyle that I simply wouldn't be a capable of, otherwise, but YOU are a key element of the routine that keeps me sane. And it wouldn't do me much good to be able to have an active lifestyle if I wasn't sane enough to appreciate it.

So - thank you, my friend. Thank you for making so much possible in my world (including . . . my world).

Seeing it all so clearly,
CVT

Dear Dehydration

Dear Dehydration,

I decided to finally wash my water bottle at work today. BAD MOVE. This letter is to tell you why.

I always have a water bottle with me at school. It's just one of those generic, crappy plastic bike water bottles that you have to squeeze to get water from. But in a job where all you do is talk all day (and raise your voice), if you don't have some water to drink at most times, you're in trouble. I've also found that keeping myself hydrated seems to help with my energy over the course of the day.

But, using the same water bottle every day, things can get dirty. Yesterday, Andrea (our Reading teacher) pointed out that there was "some stuff" in my water, and I realized that there were strange brown spots on the inside of my water bottle. Not good. So I decided to finally wash it today. Which was a good idea because I'm not into ingesting water tainted by mysterious brown spots; but it was a BAD idea because it invited you into my life, Dehydration.

Now, I'm sure you have your uses somewhere. Okay, I'm not actually SURE about that, but I imagine you have some sort of justification for your existence. I just don't really see it. Because - right now - I'm not enjoying your company. My head is achey, but the worst part is the stiffness of my neck. To try to stretch it out a little, I keep twisting my neck around like a raptor from Jurassic Park eating the intestines out of a carcass, and it just isn't helping. It's this mix of pain and discomfort that just makes me want to give up.

Because you're subtle, my friend. You don't like to go for the knockout blow - oh no. You enjoy slowly creeping up on a fellow and then cutting off his air supply until he's gone. Because I was aware of you coming on earlier in the day, but it wasn't bad enough to warrant immediate attention, so I blew off the need for drinking water. And then it got a little bit worse, but I was stuck with a glass of ice water, and I can't EVER drink enough ice water to hydrate me. It's cold and hurts my teef, and I can't just chug it down to get large quantities into my system.

So by the time I got home, you were here waiting for me. And now my neck hurts and aches and just won't let me feel comfortable (or fully relaxed), and headache is kicking in. I'm drinking water, but I know that it's going to take quite a while for said water to work through my system and force you out. So, in the meantime, I'm just going to be uncomfortable and bitchy about it.

And the worst part about you is that - even when you are forced out and I'm bloated with water - the neck ache isn't going to go away until tomorrow (MAYBE). Nope, as I lay in bed, I'm going to turn my head here then there and back again, trying to find an angle that simultaneously stretches out my neck and lets me be comfortable enough to just fall asleep.

Will it work out? I just don't know. And that's why I dislike you so, Dehydration. You are so tenacious and mean-spirited that I find myself frustrated and losing hope -as if there's nothing I can do and you're going to rob me of another possible night's sleep. Can't you see that I'm sick? Don't you know that I'm tired and need to get to bed early (because Procrastination robbed me of that bedtime last night)?

Man, oh man. There's always somebody that wants to spoil the party. Always somebody standing in between me and a sweet, long night's sleep. And tonight - that's you, Dehydration.

You suck.

Dinosaurs evolved into birds.
CVT

Dear Procrastination

Dear Procrastination,

I'm an idiot. Really. I'm a complete and utter idiot.

I didn't sleep well (or a whole lot) last night. So I wake up with difficulty, and the cold I picked up this weekend is hitting me hard. I'm congested, tired, and just not feeling all that excited about a day of work (or anything at that hour). But I go to school, push through a rough-ish day, and there you have it. Because of good planning on my part, I'm in a position to leave school almost immediately and get me some rest at home.

However, somehow, I just end up blowing about an hour after work talking with co-workers, eating some food, doing some photocopying that just wasn't all that necessary. And suddenly, it's not so early. However, it's still a bit earlier than I normally leave, so I'm still excited about that extra rest I'm going to get.

So I head home. But just before I get to my house, I reallize that I'm almost out of gas, so I pull into the gas station. And once I'm at the gas station with the gasoline pumping, I decide that my windows really need some washing (combine mad amounts of pollen with sporadic rain, and you get some NASTY windows). So I spend some time doing that (because if I'm going to do it, I really need to do ALL of them). And my rearview mirrors - why not? And then I decide I need some Cornnuts, so I go inside to pay.

After all this is over, I get hoome, and I realize that I'm just not that early. But I still have plenty of time to maybe get a nap or just rest before dinner time. I decide that I'm going to read a little bit because napping may cause me to have difficulty falling asleep at bedtime, so I read a little bit. But then I get antsy and bored, so I figure I might as well get some food in me now (even though I'm not particularly hungry), so I head upstairs.

I get out my leftover fish and pilaf from my Sunday meal, and I throw it in a wok to heat up. After only a short time (see my microwave article about this), my food is ready and I sit down to eat.

To cut the rest of this story short, I end up turning on the tv and - since it's playoff time for both the NHL AND NBA - I get sucked into a bunch of different games, ending with the Golden State-Dallas game that ends up with the wrong team winning, and 40 minutes later than planned on my personal clock.

So it's already almost my NORMAL bedtime (therefore, no extra rest like I wanted to take care of my sickness), but I'm still a tad early, so that's great. And then I realize I haven't even written my blog yet. Almost 4 hours at home, with absolutely NOTHING to show for it, and I didn't get a nap, extra rest, or my blog taken care of.

So thank you, Procrastination, for getting me to bed just in time to still be tired tomorrow.

Finally,
CVT